


Tipping Point

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Denial, Denial of Feelings, Dinner, F/M, First Time, Friendship, Loyalty, Misunderstandings, Secret Crush, honor is really hot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-12
Updated: 2019-04-12
Packaged: 2020-01-12 02:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18437411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "Okay, I have a problem and I need your advice," Tilly said quickly, entering their quarters and starting to pace.Michael sighed and set her PADD aside, already adjusting her evening plans. These conversations tended to lead to things like midnight training and pop quizzes on Starfleet protocol; she could finish her inventory review tomorrow. "What's the problem?""I want to bang the captain."





	Tipping Point

**Author's Note:**

> Tilly's the best. That is all. Also posted [here](https://alethia.dreamwidth.org/1025916.html).

"Okay, I have a problem and I need your advice," Tilly said quickly, entering their quarters and starting to pace. 

Michael sighed and set her PADD aside, already adjusting her evening plans. These conversations tended to lead to things like midnight training and pop quizzes on Starfleet protocol; she could finish her inventory review tomorrow. "What's the problem?"

"I want to bang the captain." 

Michael's insides froze. "I'm sorry?"

"You and me, both. Ugh, this is so inconvenient." Michael just stared at Tilly, boggling, distracted by her own heart rate ticking up, for no discernible reason. 

Why _had_ her heart rate sped up? Was this bothering her?

"You want...a relationship with the captain," Michael clarified. She felt a pulse in her at that pronouncement, some kind of visceral rejection she didn't understand, her mind whispering _wrong wrong wrong_.

"Well, really I just want to bounce on top of him for a while." Michael's eyes widened, but then Tilly shook her head and continued: "No, you know what, screw that. Why should I do all the work? I mean, aside from the hotness." She seemed to consider that. Then she caught sight of Michael again. "But logistics aside, yeah, bedroom time. I want it. Do you think I should just ask?"

" _No_ ," Michael said instantly, adrenaline bringing everything into perfect focus. "No, you should not ask."

"Really?" Tilly stopped pacing, seeming genuinely surprised. 

Wasn't this obvious? "You can't just make a pass at the captain."

Tilly considered that. "I mean, you can. Or do you think that would make me look bad?"

"It doesn't look great for the newest entrant into the Command Training Program to be hitting on her captain, no," Michael agreed. 

This was all theoretical and intellectual, so why was Michael _feeling_ things? Surprise, dismay, worry...it didn't make _sense_. 

Tilly still seemed dubious. "That's old-fashioned thinking, though."

"Propriety still matters for those who want to command."

Tilly flopped onto her bed. "But he's really hot. And funny. And, like, genuinely good," she said to the ceiling. Then she sat up to glare accusingly at Michael: "Starfleet can't hold that against me. It's their fault for putting him in charge in the first place. If they're so against us having sex with captains, they should stop promoting the smoking hot ones."

Again, that traitorous _pulse_ at Tilly's words, but now that Michael had a moment to analyze it, it started to turn into something familiar. 

Michael _agreed_ with her. Pike was...compelling...in a deeply unsettling way. 

Of course Tilly would bring this to the surface. Of course.

"Be that as it may, I think it would be best to ignore this for the time being," Michael counseled, keeping her voice even. 

Yes. By far the best course of action.

***

Now that Tilly had pointed it out, Michael couldn't get it out of her mind. Pike had always owned any space he occupied—he was the captain, after all—but there was something so...watchable about him; Michael found her eyes straying despite herself. 

If she was honest, they might have been straying all along, something she'd rationalized as her attempt to understand him. She'd figured him out by now, but she had to admit that she'd never stopped looking, taking in the glint to his blue eyes when something amused him, the way his hands moved when he was explaining an issue, the little smiles and teasing asides he dropped with regularity, putting everyone at ease.

Tilly may have a crush from a distance, but Michael spent far more time in the captain's presence and it was getting increasingly...distracting. Now that Tilly had raised it, Michael found herself wrestling with that focused _interest_ so familiar from when she'd first met Ash. 

And then there was the guilt. Not only was Michael's regard completely inappropriate in a professional sense, this was _Tilly's_ crush. Even if he weren't the captain, and even if Michael's last relationship hadn't ended in attempted murder, Tilly was her friend. Michael may not have a lot of experience with close female friendships, but she was pretty sure that you weren't supposed to get infatuated with your friend's romantic interest. At the very least, it seemed like poor manners. 

She resolved to put it out of her mind. She had been doing a good job of ignoring her interest before Tilly brought it up. She could just...do that again. 

Simple. 

***

The problem was Tilly couldn't just want to sleep with the captain. No, she had to _talk about it_. All the time. 

Michael had planned to put her errant thoughts and feelings in a box and set it aside. Ignore the maelstrom inside her—the confidence she had in the captain, her kneejerk trust, the admiration that was growing in concert with her unsettling physical response to his presence—and get on with life. 

Tilly made that very hard. Michael got a play-by-play recounting of every amazing thing he did, even when she'd been there to witness it. 

"I mean, he told Saru it was excellent that he gave me permission to try my idea to pinpoint the signals. That has to be a good sign, right?" Tilly asked, all earnest and hopeful. 

"I don't know, Tilly..."

But Tilly moved right past that, Michael's reservation failing to register: "What were the two of you talking about anyway?"

Michael stilled, like she'd been caught at something. But that was ridiculous; nothing had happened. "What do you mean?"

"You two came to the bridge together," Tilly pointed out and right, people noticed these things. 

"We were discussing Spock." They legitimately had been, Michael confiding in him in a way she'd done with precious few people, exploring her own emotions about their damaged relationship. The rational part of her pointed out that this was likely the cause of her...interest. Of course sharing her emotions with someone like Pike would create a bond. 

But another part of her whispered that it didn't explain the visceral physical _reaction_ she'd started having to him. The way he made her want.

"Oh, right, of course. We'll find him, I know we will. If anyone can, it's you and the captain," Tilly reassured Michael, smiling. "But until then, you have to tell me about Terralysium. All anyone can talk about is the hotness of Pike's jacket."

"Are you...being serious?" Michael asked carefully. She honestly wasn't sure. 

"I've heard glowing accounts from at least three people and I'm deeply bummed I missed it, even if I was all up in science in the best way ever. Like, can't I have science _and_ the opportunity to see the captain getting all pretty for us? I mean, really."

"Tilly."

"What? You have eyes. Come on, spill."

"Yes, the captain is a handsome man. That doesn't mean people should be...ogling him." Michael shifted, trying not to show how uncomfortable she was. She didn't need to be thinking of the captain in civilian clothes, jacket emphasizing the line of his jaw or shirt riding low enough to expose his collarbones, making him seem almost vulnerable. 

Michael didn't need any more emphasis put on that, thank you very much. 

Tilly shot her a long-suffering look, like she was at her wits' end. "You are no fun." Then she flicked a dismissive hand. "Fine, I'll just ask Jo. _She_ appreciates the importance of spreading the love."

"By all means," Michael encouraged, relieved. Anything to avoid thoughts of...spreading the love.

***

Tilly slumped across from her at lunch, so despondent she hadn't even gotten food yet. "His hands, why did I have to notice his hands? Now they're all I can see. And all I can think is how I want them inside me."

Michael closed her eyes, image flashing through her mind despite herself. But it wasn't Pike's hands on Tilly; it was Pike's hands on _Michael_ , light fingertips tracing down her stomach, between her thighs...

Michael shook it off and swallowed, trying to push aside any thoughts about Pike and his expressive hands. Tilly was her friend. Friends didn't...do this to each other. 

"I take it you're still working to get a handle on your...affections," Michael said, carefully taking a sip of her tea.

"I'm so not used to denying myself. It sucks."

"Well, consider this: what kind of future could you even have?" Michael asked reasonably. "He's only on the _Discovery_ temporarily, he'll go back to the _Enterprise_ soon enough, and you want to be a captain yourself someday. It's not like you'd give up your career for him."

Tilly blinked, looking at Michael oddly. "I want to bang him, Michael, not marry him. Jeez, put much thought into this?"

A cold flush of embarrassment swept through Michael as she realized she had. She _had_ put thought into it, more than she should have. Some part of her had been...reasoning this out and while she could say it was on Tilly's behalf, she knew herself better than that. 

Tilly continued her musing, oblivious to Michael's internal struggle: "I'm having a weird hang-up about what to call him in my head, though. 'Pike' just seems so formal. Like, you're not calling that out when his head's between your thighs, you know?" Michael closed her eyes again, forcing her mind to stay very far away from that thought. "Apparently his officer buddies call him 'Chris.'" 

And suddenly so was Michael, imagining gasping out, _Chris please_ , a hand buried in his hair as he went down on her. 

Michael snapped out of it, clearing her throat. "Since you're keeping things professional, I suggest you think of him as 'the captain.' It will be a helpful reminder."

Tilly sighed the sigh of the long-suffering. "Ugh, fine."

***

The problem was, now that Tilly had opened the door to calling him Chris, that was how Michael started thinking of him. It wasn't the captain who looked over at her, blue eyes sharp, it was Chris. It wasn't the captain who asked for a word after the morning briefing, it was Chris. 

It wasn't the captain who laughed at her wry comment. It was Chris. 

***

Tilly primped in front of the holo-mirror, twirling in her skirt with a grin, arranging her hair over one shoulder, then sweeping it behind her, considering. 

Michael finally gave up on the PADD in hand and smiled at her. "Either way looks good. Do you have an event tonight?"

"Rhys and I are going out." Tilly shot Michael a suggestive look. "Don't wait up."

It threw Michael, completely out of the blue. "Wait, _Rhys_? What about C—Captain Pike?" she asked, stumbling over the name a little, heart rate already ticking up. 

Tilly looked confused for a moment. Then she figured it out. "Oh, I totally forgot to tell you." She took a breath, going a little shamefaced: "So don't get mad, but I talked to him about it."

"You _talked_ about it?" Michael asked, a faint hint of alarm seeping into her voice. How did one just go up and...talk about it?

"Yeah, the captain's the best. He knew exactly what to say. We decided that my crush on him was me fooling myself because Rhys wanted to get more serious and I was avoiding. It's all good now."

"You had this conversation...with the captain," Michael said slowly, staring, these words not resolving into any sort of sense.

Tilly nodded, like she was a little surprised, too: "I think he must deal with this all the time. Which makes sense, on some level. I mean, everybody knows him, he's awesome, he has a stupidly perfect face. Of course people would hit on him. He was really cool about it." 

"And now you're just...over him? Like that?" Michael asked, still not quite believing it, something inside her rebelling because—because—

She shied away from why. 

Tilly laughed. "Come on, it wasn't like it was true love. I just wanted a _ride_. Or twelve, you know how it is. You're the one who kept talking about propriety and the future and—" She stopped, peering at Michael more closely. "Why do you look like you're gonna be sick?" 

Michael shook her head, her gut churning, not knowing what to say. Tilly's crush had been uncomfortable, worrying. Tilly getting over that crush was somehow _worse_. 

But Tilly didn't need her to say anything, realization lighting her eyes. "Wait. _You_ were the one talking about propriety and the future," Tilly repeated, figuring it out like the bright woman she was, Michael's breathing ticking up as her skin went hot. "...Michael, do you...like him?"

Michael swallowed against the sour taste of guilt, the remorse landing heavy. But it was out in the open now; they could talk about it, move forward. "I'm sorry. I know it's not right—"

Bizarrely, Tilly broke out into a smile. "This is great!"

Michael reared back a little, confusion sweeping through her. " _Nothing_ about this is great—"

"You _like_ him," Tilly crowed, like this was some kind of victory. Michael didn't understand. Tilly should be angry, betrayed. Was this...some kind of cover?

"I want you to know I'd never do anything to compromise our friendship—"

"Oh, my god, _stop_. This isn't finders keepers. Just because I wanted to bang him first doesn't mean he's off limits." 

"...it doesn't?"

Tilly actually rolled her eyes. "Michael, I hereby give you permission to go to _town_ on my sloppy seconds. Even the imaginary ones." She shook her head. "Your notions of honor, I swear to god. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because all you could talk about was how much you wanted him," Michael said, defensive, shying away from what Tilly was actually saying. That this was okay, that it was good, that Michael should embrace it.

"So? That doesn't invalidate your feelings."

Michael had nothing to say to that. Tilly looked at her evenly. "Martyr complex, got it," she said easily, like she could roll with this. "So what are you gonna do?"

"Take my own advice," Michael said firmly. Ignore it until it went away. Or he did. 

"Or you could go for it," Tilly offered, her tone implying that Michael was being an idiot.

Heat flared in Michael, a mixture of reticence and want. She shook her head. "You just said it, he must deal with this all the time. I don't need to embarrass myself just to learn what I already know."

"First of all, expressing interest in someone isn't embarrassing yourself; it's making healthy, human connections," Tilly corrected. "More importantly, he turned _me_ down, but you're you."

Michael frowned. "I don't follow."

Tilly sighed, like this should be obvious. "The captain isn't pulling me aside to have deep, meaningful conversations about the remorse of sitting out the war or the nature of faith. He does that with you."

"That's not purposeful. It just...happens."

" _Only with you_ ," Tilly said again, widening her eyes at Michael, like she was smarter than this.

Michael swallowed, hearing the truth of her words, but shutting down any larger implications. To do otherwise would be...too much. "I don't think you can draw any conclusions from that data set."

"You don't want to think you have a special relationship? Fine. But at least go talk to him about it so you know where you stand. Believe me, it totally helps." That's when the door chimed, Tilly smiling in delight. "See ya."

Tilly sailed out, leaving Michael sitting on her bed, worrying at her hands. Could she just...ask?

***

After the morning briefing, Michael found herself lingering behind as the others walked out. Chris picked up on it, raising an eyebrow at her. 

Michael tipped her head, acknowledging his perceptiveness. "Tilly tells me she talked to you."

Chris looked puzzled for a moment. Then it clicked. "Did she ever," he said, deadpan. He smiled and sat back. "When I first became captain, that really threw me. Starfleet neglected to train us on the personal stuff. Why ever would we need strategies for getting hit on?" he asked, mocking. Then he shook his head, like he was still frustrated with the naivete of the Academy. "I had them add some material on it."

Of _course_ he did. 

"Dealt with this a lot, have you?" Michael asked, mild.

Chris flashed a wry smile, backlit by the stars, everything about him charming and handsome. "It makes sense on some level. Part of my job is making people feel safe. And the captain has always been something of a romantic figure in people's minds. It's only natural that some would...take it a little further."

"Well, you certainly impressed Tilly with your professional response."

"Oh, I've got a system. These days, I can spot an advance coming before they even open their mouths."

"It's good to have skills," Michael said, dry. 

Chris held up a hand. "Don't get me wrong, I'd have been lost without a counselor helping me standardize a response. You gotta express appreciation—no judgment—and follow it with a gentle refusal," he said, gesturing smoothly. "Most people let it go, but as we both know, Ensign Tilly is not most people."

That was very...clear. Michael swallowed, trying to tamp down her own reaction to his protocol, to the way something in her chest _squeezed_. "Yes, I suspected you got a rundown of her social life."

" _So_ much more than I wanted to know," he agreed, vehement. Then he tilted his head, considering: "On the upside, it's always nice to be reminded how much I do not miss the confusion of my twenties."

She smiled a little. "Somehow I can't imagine you confused." Michael couldn't help but picture it—a young Chris, clear-eyed and honorable, attracting too much interest to handle. She wondered if he'd let himself get seduced by it or if he'd always seen what others didn't and held himself apart. 

Chris lowered his eyes at her compliment, seeming pleased, but then met her gaze again. "Believe it or not, I wasn't always the man before you today. I made my share of mistakes, got a little too friendly with people who were a little too admiring. It wasn't for me."

Michael nodded, letting herself feel the stab of disappointment in her gut. Part of her had wanted something more, despite all her reservations. But Tilly was right about one thing: it _was_ good to know where she stood. "To your credit, sir. Anyway, I'm glad your talk with Tilly went well." With that, she tipped her head and took her leave. 

There. She'd talked about it and Chris had given his answer. No more need be said.

***

"Wait, hang on. That's not a rejection," Tilly said. 

"Of course it is," Michael insisted. It was plain as day. 

"Did you tell him you wanted him? Did he say some version of, 'I'm flattered, but I'm not interested?'" Tilly asked, studying her. 

Michael shifted. "Well, no."

"So you didn't talk about it."

Michael shook her head. How was this at all questionable? "He literally described his system for turning people down. He said such entanglements are not for him. The rejection was implied. I didn't need it made explicit."

Tilly looked dubious in the extreme. "You're talking generals and I'm talking specifics. They are not the same, my friend. The idea of random sycophants wanting you is quite different from Michael Burnham standing in front of you saying, 'I want you.'"

The old heat pulsed in Michael again, that image flashing before her eyes—Michael standing before Chris, open, just...laying it out there. The idea of that vulnerability made something in her quiver. 

She shoved the thought away, firm: "He's not interested in relationships with subordinates, Tilly. That's the end of it."

***

Tilly set her tray down across from Michael, her veggie hash steaming. "Okay, just answer me this: _when_ did you start liking him?" she asked, seating herself. 

"Tilly." Michael looked around. It was late enough that the crowd was sparse, the other crew members focused on their own meals. 

Tilly just rolled her eyes. "Oh, no one's around, stop avoiding."

Michael knew Tilly wouldn't let it go until her curiosity was satisfied, so she gave in. She thought about it, trying to pinpoint the first little zing, the moment when she stood up and took notice. The problem was...she couldn't; it felt like it had always been there. 

She shook her head. "I couldn't say."

"So basically immediately," Tilly concluded. "And then my wayward crush forced you to acknowledge it, when you would've happily lived in denial-land otherwise. Am I close?"

Dead on target. Michael didn't say it out loud, but Tilly seemed to read it in her expression. "I'm just saying, you're lucky to have me."

Michael smiled. "I am," she said, genuine, "but not in the way you mean."

"Disagree," she said, light, taking a bite and chewing, considering. "Thinking back on it, I guess I see it. You did look at him a lot, but I just thought you were trying to figure him out."

"I _was_ trying to figure him out," Michael insisted.

"You can multitask. And it doesn't hurt that he's easy on the eyes," Tilly said, dry. Then her gaze sharpened, going gleaming. "Hang on, I spent all that time fawning over him and you didn't say a word. You were totally holding out on me."

"I can't imagine what that means."

"I was going on and on about his hands, in graphic detail—"

"Oh, I remember."

"And you were sitting there silently agreeing the whole time. Rude. You should share with the class," Tilly said, waving her fork in a forward motion, like Michael should...do something. 

Michael just looked at her blankly.

"I'm serious. I mean, there was a time there I got very distracted by how much I wanted to ride him in the captain's chair, but I bet you've got me beat." 

Michael flushed, but she refused to look away. Instead she studied Tilly, trying to detach herself from her emotions. "Why are you pushing this?"

Tilly went serious, if sympathetic. "Because I think what's really happening is you're treating your desire like it's shameful."

"I treat it like it's private," Michael corrected, stiffening at this turn in the conversation.

"No, that's what you tell yourself." Tilly sighed, shaking her head a little, like this was worrying her. "Look, I get it, you were raised in a society that was all about inhibiting emotions. And what's more explosive and uncontrollable than passion? But...you're human. You can't just deny that part of yourself."

"I understand what you're doing," Michael returned, reasonably. "You're drawing a line between my upbringing and my reticence to act on my...feelings. I get it, but there's also professionalism to consider." 

"Or hide behind," Tilly shot back. Then she softened. "You grew up hearing 'feelings, bad.' And then your first foray into feelings with Ash burned you, like, worse than anyone has ever been burned—I totally acknowledge that—so I just worry that you've accepted this idea that relationships are something to be scared of."

Michael swallowed against the sudden tightness in her throat, trying to cover her reaction. "Say you're right. Isn't that still my choice to make?"

Tilly looked unbearably sad at that. "I think the captain could make you happy, Michael. You deserve that."

Michael shook her head. "Sometimes it's not about what we deserve."

***

The problem was, her feelings weren't going away. Worse, they were growing, deepening with every moral stand Chris took, easy joke he made, every time he proved his true nature to them: a generous, good man trying to make the galaxy a little more just. 

As he stared down a phalanx of Ba'ul ships, proclaiming, "Saru is our people" Michael had to consciously shut down her visceral response, her body pulsing with want. Their lives were in danger, Saru's most especially, she shouldn't be...reacting like this. It was completely inappropriate, even a little horrifying—

And more than anything it convinced her: she couldn't just ignore this. 

Something had to be done. 

***

Michael conceded that Tilly may have been right. Nothing else was working. She might as well try talking to Chris. Maybe that would finally put her attraction to rest. 

So she lingered behind the others after the midday briefing, catching his eye. He nodded for her to stay, used to these little chats, nothing but welcome in him as he stood behind his desk, backlit by the stars. 

"Everything okay?" he asked once the others had cleared out. 

"Yes, sir. I'll have the report on the retrofit by the end of the day."

"Great," he said, the tinge of curiosity to his voice asking without asking. 

Something in Michael thrilled at being able to read him so well. She swallowed; she couldn't _wait_ for this folly to go away. "I also had something of a more personal nature to discuss."

"Oh?" he asked, careful now. 

Michael took a breath and steeled herself, meeting his eyes. If she was going to do this, she'd do it with the courage of a Starfleet officer: "I find myself...preoccupied by thoughts of you," she said, shaking her head at herself. "I'm not quite sure what to do about it."

She could see the surprise land on him, catching him off guard. He blinked once, then tilted his head, eyes going warm. "You should have dinner with me."

Wait, what?

"You—what was that?" she asked, heartbeat suddenly thudding in her ears. That was...not a rejection. 

"Have dinner with me. Tonight," Chris decided, his gaze spreading warmth through her. 

Michael opened her mouth, but nothing came out. She closed it, studying him, confused. "I expected non-judgmental appreciation followed by a gentle refusal."

Chris looked at her, seeming to see right through her. "Is that what you wanted?"

Michael stiffened; sometimes she forgot how perceptive he was. "Maybe."

Chris nodded, like he understood that, keenly. Something about it made Michael settle. He always had this way of making her feel...seen. 

Like right now, when he regarded her steadily, compassionate but not giving an inch. "Have dinner with me, Michael."

His eyes on her made her skin buzz in excitement, heart still pounding away, her senses so very alive. "Okay," she said, finally. 

"Nineteen hundred?" he asked, something a little hopeful in his voice. 

Michael nodded, smiling, nerves starting to make her hands shake. "I'll see you then."

With that, she beat a hasty retreat. 

***

"Yes, I knew it!" Tilly crowed, pumping a fist like this was some kind of victory. 

Michael was deeply glad she'd waited until they were in their quarters to discuss this. 

"It's just dinner," she downplayed even as her heart hadn't stopped tap-dancing in her chest.

"And you're on the menu." Heat _flared_ in Michael at that, but Tilly had already moved on: "What are you going to wear?" 

Michael looked down at herself obviously. "My uniform."

Tilly made a dismissive gesture. "Takes forever to get out of. You should wear something with easier access."

"Tilly. That is not—I'm not—I'm wearing my uniform."

Tilly studied her, eyes shrewd. "Why are you uncomfortable right now? Don't you want to sleep with him?" Michael sucked in a breath as that image flashed before her eyes, the two of them twined together, gasping into each other's mouths. She ruthlessly pushed it aside. 

"That's not what—it's—wait, do you think that's what he's expecting?" she asked, sudden worry flashing through her. "He said dinner." 

"Duh, sometimes dinner means dinner and sometimes dinner means sex. Which did it feel like?"

"I have no idea how to distinguish the two," Michael said, flat. Such subtleties sometimes eluded her, despite her best efforts. There was only so much she could get from books. And Chris did have a light touch. 

Even that thought made her shiver. 

"You should wear something hot just in case," Tilly decided. 

***

Michael wore her uniform. 

"I don't know why I'm here," she said as she stepped into his quarters, clocking that he had changed into civilian clothes, a blue sweater and soft, gray pants. It made her feel official, stuffy, ill-prepared for...whatever this was. 

"Everybody's gotta eat," Chris replied, keeping it light. "Come in, please." Michael moved further into his quarters, noting the homey feel of it—meal area, couches, his desk, rugs and throws scattered about, everything done in neutral tones, soothing. A doorway led to his darkened bedroom. 

Chris walked to the meal table set into a small alcove, windows overlooking the nebula outside, brilliant and picturesque. Covered dishes were spread out; he'd prepared for this. Michael moved to a chair, but hesitated when she got there, hands gripping the back of it. 

She looked to him, trying to read the answers from his skin. This didn't make _sense._ "You turned Tilly down."

"Tilly's young and wanted a distraction," Chris said, something knowing about it. Then his blue eyes turned piercing, like they could see right through her. "Is that what you want, Michael? A distraction." The way he said it implied...things, too many to name, but it made something in Michael want to lay down and _beg_. 

Instead of answering, she sat down. 

Chris went with it, not letting it become awkward. "I know Vulcans prefer vegetarian diets, but I wasn't sure if you kept to that tradition, so I got a few options," he explained, uncovering various dishes, many of them clearly vegetarian. It was thoughtful, detailed, perfectly in keeping with who Chris was...and yet she was surprised. 

"Thank you," she said, touched. "I'm not strict about it, but it does remind me of home."

Chris nodded, something pleased at the corners of his eyes as he sat down catty-corner to her. "I would've tried for some M'lu, but given how much Spock complained about the food synthesizers' myriad failures there, I figured I should stick with more mundane dishes."

Michael smiled. "Spock does have particular tastes. I'm a little more easygoing. Food is fuel and all."

"You should still enjoy it. Life's too short not to indulge in the things we can," Chris murmured, eyes steady on her.

Michael's mouth went dry. Why did she think they weren't talking about food right now?

"I enjoy lots of things," she returned evenly, lifting her chin.

"Good." Chris nodded once, like some kind of discussion was over. 

Michael had no idea what discussion they'd just had. "What is happening here?" she asked, faint.

"We're having dinner," he replied easily, grabbing a serving spoon and offering her some kind of green stew. 

"You said you don't do this," Michael argued, needing to understand. 

Chris set the serving spoon down, meeting her eyes calmly. "I said no such thing."

"You implied it."

"Did I? Or did you hear what you wanted to hear?" Michael had no response to that, Chris studying her. Whatever he saw made him soften. "So tell me, why did you come to me looking for rejection?"

Michael shook her head, a little helpless. "It let Tilly move on."

"And you'd rather these feelings go away," he surmised. 

"On Vulcan we're taught that one of the highest virtues is to master ourselves," Michael explained, for some reason wanting to be understood as much as to understand. 

"And I challenge that mastery." Chris tilted his head, eyes warm. "It's a hell of a compliment."

"It's destabilizing," Michael said flatly. It had been like walking on shifting sands, never knowing which step would get her sucked under. 

Chris moved one hand to cover hers, warm. "Would it help you to know that it's mutual?" His voice lowered. "I find myself...quite taken with you."

The admission sent heat careening through her, sudden and shocking. She wanted to pull him closer and put hands on him. She wanted him inside her, all over her, and she didn't want to let go. 

Michael swallowed it all down, staying right where she was. " _How_ do people function when they're feeling like this?" she asked, a little desperate.

"Once you stop fighting it, it gets a little easier."

Michael swallowed. "Knowing does help," she decided, trembling inside at the idea that he might _want_ just as badly. 

Chris nodded. "Good." He pulled his hand away, looking at the food like he'd forgotten it. "We should probably eat."

Michael clamored for a safe topic. "Yes, tell me all about these mundane vegetarian dishes you ordered for us." Anything to avoid talking more about feelings. 

Chris smiled at her, eyes gleaming. 

***

After they got the heavy talk out of the way, dinner had been...refreshing. Chris regaled her with stories of the Academy, though part of her was convinced he was embellishing; there was no way Starfleet would allow so much fraternization. Or drinking. Or fraternizing while drinking. Didn't the cadets have early morning PT? How could they possibly function?

She contrasted all the drunken hijinks with anecdotes from the Vulcan Science Academy. The difference was...stark. But Chris seemed to appreciate them and wasn't that the purpose, after all? To get to know each other?

As Chris drained his dessert wine glass and Michael ran her spoon through the remains of the apple pie, he sighed. "This was good," he said, the note of finality to it letting her know the evening was over. It was subtle, non-confrontational, and answered a question that had been lingering since Tilly brought up the idea of sex. 

The relief that swept through her was no surprise. The disappointment? That was unexpected. She had shied away from what she'd do if Chris expected more, she was glad it wasn't an issue, but the part of her that _wanted_...well, that had other priorities. 

Michael smiled to him, nodding. "It was." She took that as her cue, standing, Chris following suit, walking with her to the door. 

Before she got to it, Chris grabbed her hand, stopping her. Michael looked back at him, curious, only to find Chris stepping in close. He kissed her, feather-light, a brief press of his mouth that sent sensation _singing_ through her body, her lips tingling, and then was gone. Chris pulled back to look at her fondly, blue eyes pleased. "Goodnight, Michael."

Michael _surged_ forward, hands cupping his face as she kissed him for real, mouth moving over his, strong and insistent. 

Chris tensed for a beat, surprised, and then he responded, tilting his head and kissing her back, just as fierce. Michael opened her mouth against his and like that it was _fiery_ , Chris making a dark noise as he chased her tongue into her mouth. 

Then he took control, arms curling around her as his mouth laid claim to hers, exploring, lighting her up everywhere. She wanted that mouth all over her, she wanted strong hands holding her down, she _wanted_. 

Something high and helpless ripped from her throat, fingers gripping his jacket as his tongue twined with hers, stealing all thought. 

Chris instantly pulled away, eyes dark, knowing. "Two can play at that game, Michael," he said, voice making her shiver, even if she wasn't quite following the words. "I'll see you in the morning," he said firmly, stepping back. 

Dazed, mind still not back online, Michael nodded and walked out. 

***

Tilly took one look at her and said, "Dinner or sex?" 

Michael couldn't help but picture it, Chris not pulling back, instead hauling her closer, into his bed, all urgency and _heat_. 

She cleared her throat. "Dinner. Then he kissed me." Michael's mind replayed that kiss over and over again on a loop, swamped by the sheer _feeling_ of it, the way it made her go a little weak even to remember it. 

Chris had said it was mutual, but she'd had...no idea. 

Tilly snorted. "You don't say."

Michael shook her head, still faintly reeling. "And then it got weird?"

Tilly gestured to Michael's...everything. "Nothing about this says weird."

Michael frowned as she thought it through, just as she'd been doing for the entire trip back to her quarters, hot and cold alternately flashing through her. "I think I gave him the wrong impression."

Tilly raised an eyebrow and turned toward her, crossing her legs under her on the bed, full attention devoted to Michael now. "Explain."

Michael sighed and sank down onto her own bed. "Dinner was good—funny, engaging, all of it." Tilly nodded, like _of course_. "When he went to walk me out, he kissed me, just...soft. I might have...gotten a little more aggressive with it." At that, Tilly flashed a grin, but Michael didn't let herself get distracted. "But when he pulled away he said, 'Two can play at that game.' What does that even mean?"

Tilly looked like she had an idea, wheels turning. "Wait, so he kept it light and you're the one who pushed?"

"It wasn't like I planned on it," Michael said. "It just kind of...happened."

"Oh, I get it, and kudos for going for it, but he probably thought you were, like, teasing. Leaving him wanting more. Like a parting shot."

Michael sat back, body stiff. "I wouldn't do that."

"I know."

"I wouldn't—of course I'd respect someone's boundaries," she insisted.

Tilly held out her hands in that universal peace-making gesture. "Whoa, I'm not accusing you of anything. I'm just saying, that's what it sounds like. 'You leave me wanting more, I leave you wanting more.'"

Michael shivered. "Mission accomplished."

***

Michael couldn't fall asleep, mind spinning, plagued by the idea that she'd left the dinner on the wrong note. She replayed it over and over, the fondness in his eyes when he'd pulled back from that first kiss, something sharper when he pulled back the second. She couldn't get it out of her head. 

She needed to clarify. 

***

She waited at his door, forcing herself to remain calm. Chris was all about open communication; he always had been. She shouldn't feel nervous. 

Finally he granted entrance, the doors sliding open. Michael walked in...and froze. 

He was just out of the shower, half-dressed and toweling his hair, uniform pants on, but no shirt or shoes to be found. Michael's brain kind of...shorted at all the skin now revealed, the droplets of water dripping down his chest, her entire body _reacting_ , a helpless, forceful desire sweeping through her. 

Chris ran a hand through his hair, pushing it back, studying her. "Michael."

She startled back to awareness. Right. She was here for a reason. 

Michael determinedly looked in his eyes, _not_ at anything else. "I feel like I gave you the wrong impression last night and I'd like to clarify."

"And what impression is that?" he asked, neutral, inscrutable.

All the ways she'd rehearsed this flew out of her head, her skin heating under his gaze. "I wasn't—I didn't mean for it to come across like I was...disregarding your boundaries," Michael said, halting. "You kissed me and I think I just..." she made a hand gesture, like that would explain her loss of control. 

Chris seemed to get it, his eyes warming as he moved closer. 

"I'm sorry for that," Michael concluded, looking up at him as he approached, smelling like the shower. His damp hair curled slightly, little droplets of water still dotting his skin. And there was _so much skin_. Michael didn't know where to look, _want_ cascading through her. Why did he feel so naked even while wearing pants?

"One kiss made you lose your famed control and you came here to apologize," Chris clarified, kind. 

Michael licked her lips. "Well, when you put it like that it doesn't sound so bad."

"No apology necessary," he said, dry, right before he leaned in and kissed her again, one hand tilting her chin, his fingertips against her jaw making her whole body shudder. 

Michael made a sound into his mouth and reached for him, hands connecting with _skin_. She made another sound at that, curling her hands into fists, trying not to touch. There was such a thing as too much temptation. 

Chris pulled back, some kind of appreciation in his eyes. "What made you come here this morning?"

"Tilly said sometimes dinner means dinner and sometimes dinner means sex," Michael murmured, sounding breathless even to herself. "It got in my head. I didn't want you thinking I was just—I wasn't—I don't want you to think badly of me."

"Never," he said instantly, low. "And for the record, I really did mean dinner."

Michael nodded, staring at his mouth. "Okay. Will you let me know when you mean sex?"

Chris took a shaky breath. "I can do that."

Michael looked away from his mouth—she needed to _get some control_ —but her eyes landed on his body again, at the sprinkling of gray in his chest hair, smooth skin over solid muscle. A water droplet slid down his clavicle; it took everything in her not to lick it off. "I'm going now," she said tightly, raising her eyes to his again. 

"That's probably a good idea," Chris rumbled, his own eyes tracking her with intent. "Dinner tonight?"

_Dinner_ , not sex, Michael reminded herself. He would say otherwise. 

Heart pounding, she nodded, then stepped back and very deliberately walked out. 

***

"It turns out he'd been scamming the junior officers out of their recreation allotments and redistributing them for personal gain," Chris said, tone telling her exactly what he thought of _that_. 

They sat at his table, warm and close, finished with the meal and just...talking. Chris had endless stories of wayward officers and he seemed amused enough by her tales of Vulcans trying (and failing) to prove they were superior to the human in their midst. Michael kept her mind away from the sheer physical presence of him, so close she could touch. She tried to focus herself on his words, on who he was. 

The problem, of course, was she found herself endlessly attracted to everything about him, including his leadership and principles. 

Michael shook her head at the lieutenant's gall. "What did you do?"

"I took away his toys, informed him of the standards I expect from my officers, and busted his ass down to ensign."

"You demoted a lieutenant to ensign?" Michael asked, incredulous. 

"Hell, I would've sent him back to the Academy if I thought Katrina would let me. There is no room in Starfleet for that behavior. If you prey on your peers' weaknesses, get out of leadership because you have none."

Michael sat back, once again struck by his integrity. Cornwell had called him the best of Starfleet and he lived that out, over and over again. All of the sudden, her fingers itched to reach out and _touch_. 

She curled her hands into fists, abruptly realizing she'd been there for _hours_ , long past when she should have taken her leave. She'd just...gotten lost in it, everything about him calling to her. Serving with the captain was a pleasure. Dining with Chris was a revelation. She saw both sides of the man so clearly and respected, admired, and wanted them in equal measure. It was...a lot. 

"Hey," Chris said, covering her hand with his. "Where'd you go there?"

"...What are we doing?" Michael asked, a tremble in her voice. 

"See, there was dinner..." Chris said, light. 

"I'm serious. What's the point of this? You're going to leave in a few days, a few weeks, _maybe_ a few months."

Chris turned her hand over, lacing their fingers together. He smiled softly. "Happiness is the point. Love is the point. They're ends in themselves."

Michael shook her head, all her doubts surfacing with a vengeance. "But why bother when they're just...temporary? Fleeting."

He looked pensive, tilting his head. "If you consider a long enough timeframe, everything is temporary. Our lives are temporary. It's not the duration that matters; it's the experience. Love is worth it," he said, bringing her hand to his mouth and kissing her knuckles softly.

The truth of that slammed into her chest, Michael going breathless at the naked honesty in his eyes, at what he was intimating. If she were smart, she'd keep her distance from this, from the loss that was surely headed her way. But the part of her that wanted to revel in him, to bask in the heat between them...she couldn't fight that. She didn't want to. 

"I should go," she finally said.

He nodded and released her hand, standing with her, walking her to the door again. This time when he kissed her, it wasn't a surprise. She leaned into him, sighing into his mouth, the two of them trading exploratory kisses, slower than their others. No rush now. She was going to do this. It would tear her apart when it ended, but until then...

Chris pulled back from the kiss, eyes heavy-lidded and gorgeous. "How about tomorrow night we have dinner _and_ sex?" he murmured against her mouth. 

Michael shivered. "Yes, please."

He kissed her once more, soft, before pulling out of her arms. "Goodnight, Michael."

She nodded and moved to the door, about to head out—

And then she paused. If it was about the experience, if it was about embracing happiness while she had it...what the hell was she waiting for? 

Michael turned back to him, feeling the _thump thump thump_ of her heart in her ears. "Or we could stop wasting time."

Chris' eyes widened, but he didn't protest as Michael moved back to him, purposeful, taking his face in her hands and bringing their mouths together again. 

He returned the kiss, sinking into it, arms pulling her close. But he still broke away, resting his forehead against hers, shaking his head a little. "You've been looking for excuses to bail on this."

"I know," she breathed, wrapping her arms around him. "You answered them all."

"You sure about that?" In that question she glimpsed it again—the sheer depth of his desire. He didn't want to throw himself into this unless she was sure. 

It sent heat spiraling through her, stealing her breath. And suddenly this was right, this was _necessary_ , walking away _unfathomable_. 

Michael pulled back to look in his eyes, to make sure he _understood_. "I want you."

She saw it land, Chris' pupils dilating, and then he groaned, pulling her back into a kiss that was desperate, claiming. Like _that_ , all hesitance vanished, Chris crushing her to him, _taking_ her mouth, frank and possessive. 

He propelled them backwards toward the bedroom, Michael pushing her fingers under his clothes, tugging at the sweater he wore, wanting to touch all that skin she'd seen, but denied herself. 

Denying herself was _over_ , done, history. As they got to the bed, Michael pushed him to sit, pulling the sweater off and flinging it...somewhere, crawling into his lap and curling around him, biting at his mouth as her hands set out exploring. 

Chris breathed out, clever fingers unzipping her jacket and pushing it off, pulling her undershirt up and tugging, forcing her to back away and get rid of it. She lost her bra while she was at it, Chris' eyes widening before she pushed him back to lie flat, perching over his thighs and leaning down to bite at his nipple, scratching her fingers through his chest hair. "I can't _believe_ you answered the door wearing only your pants," she muttered, fingers tracing the contours of muscle in his chest, pressing her naked skin to his, liking how it felt across her nipples. 

"I was in the shower," he said, breathless, but she could hear the smile in it. She looked up to confirm it in his mischievous look, narrowing her eyes in warning, before she shifted over him, grinding her hips into his where she could already feel him hard. 

Chris groaned again, lower, and then admitted: "Okay, I might've had an ulterior motive there."

"Uh-huh." She licked and bit her way up his chest, detouring at his collarbone, fingers working at the clasp to his pants. She got them open, a hand stealing inside to take hold of him and stroke _slowly_ , making him arch and gasp.

His voice was ragged, strained, when he spoke again: "If this is what I get for it...worth it."

Michael laughed and bit his chin, kissing him again, hand still moving, liking the feel of his cock, how responsive he was to her touch. "I could bring you off like this, couldn't I?" she mused, fingers circling the head, feeling him already leaking. 

Chris made a strangled noise and reached for her hand, stilling it. "I _guarantee_ you that's true," he said, like he was already close, "But I'd really rather be inside you. Please," he added. 

Michael tilted her head and _hmmed_ , kissing him again. "Since you asked so nicely." She withdrew her hand, shifting off the bed to work at her own clothes. Chris stayed put, staring at her like he'd never seen anything so arresting, and Michael shot him a pointed look. "Get naked."

That seemed to do the trick, Chris shifting up to shove at his pants while Michael kicked off her boots and shimmied out of the rest of her uniform. 

When she looked back up, his pants were somewhere around his knees, cock hard and leaking against his thigh, Chris staring at her again, helpless with lust. 

Some kind of delicious _power_ swept through her, that she could reduce the pride of Starfleet to mute, inert _staring_. She crawled back over him, making a show of it, settling over his thighs again, the heat of his skin on her thighs making desire pool low. Now that she'd given into this, she wanted to immerse herself in it, feel it _burn_ through her. 

"I think someone needs a refresher on following orders," she murmured, fingers tapping at his pants still snarled around his knees. Before Chris could respond, she kissed him again, sucking on his tongue suggestively. 

He looked up at her, pupils blown, panting a little. "Good leaders make good followers," he rumbled, clothes forgotten as he slid the pads of his fingertips over her skin, like touching her more would be too much. 

"Let's find out," she said, sitting up and moving _into_ his touch, sighing as he ran his fingertips down her arms, up her stomach, and across her nipples. He sat up to join her, arms circling around her, exploring everywhere, a light, maddening tease that lit up nerve endings across her entire body. 

Chris dipped his head to suck at her nipple, laving it slowly, like he had all the time in the world to drive her out of her mind. And suddenly she couldn't _stand_ it, she had to have him inside her, right now. 

Michael reached for his cock again, Chris hissing and pulling away from her breast, a warning flashing in his eyes. "Michael..."

"Shhhh," she said, lining him up against where she was wet and open and _aching_. Chris barely had time to suck in a breath before she was shifting and sliding down onto him, throwing her head back at the stretch, bracing herself against his shoulder. 

Chris dropped his head against her chest and moaned, Michael _feeling_ how he controlled the trembling, his arms going tight around her. 

She paused when she sank down fully, giving herself a moment—giving him a moment—and when Chris raised his head again, she met his eyes...and smiled. 

Then she pushed up on her knees and sank back down and that was _it_ for control, pleasure blanking higher brain function until all she knew was the feeling of skin against skin, Michael shoving herself onto him as Chris pulled her closer, pleasure sparking as they moaned into each other's mouths, hands clutching like they couldn't get close enough. 

Michael was making noise, she might've been speaking, but she couldn't hear it past the rush in her ears, too focused on the sensation of him inside her, on all the _feeling_. She pressed a hand in between them to touch herself and Chris _bit_ her bottom lip, brushing her hand aside, fingers sliding down to tease at her slick folds—

And then she was _done_ , the orgasm sending her flying, Chris groaning in concert, shaking against her as he came, those gorgeous, perfect hands never faltering. 

_Tilly was right about his hands_ , she thought inanely, panting into his mouth, aftershocks shuddering through her, muscles fluttering around his cock where he was still inside her. 

Michael huffed out a laugh, the dopamine making her giddy and stupid, Chris' lips quirking in response. "Should I be insulted?" he asked, voice gravelly, eyes fuzzy and sated.

She nipped at his mouth, then settled into a kiss, tongue soft and languid against his. "I am never leaving this bed," Michael breathed, clenching her body around him. 

Chris grunted. "I'll take that as a 'no,'" he said, then kissed her again, fingers trailing through the sweat at the small of her back. 

Another few moments and he gripped her tighter, tipping them over onto their sides and pulling out of her, both of them sighing at the loss. Chris nuzzled close, seeming content not to move. Michael agreed wholeheartedly, satisfaction buzzing through her. 

"You were right," she said after a few more moments, brain function slowly coming back. Chris made a curious noise against her skin, nibbling his way across her shoulder, so Michael elaborated: "Good leaders do make good followers."

Chris laughed, the rush of air making Michael shiver. He pulled back and met her eyes, leaning into her, warmth bleeding between them. He ran his fingers over her cheek, expression going hesitant. "Still out of excuses?" he asked like he couldn't not, like all her doubts couldn't just disappear and he well knew it. 

Part of her stood in awe of that, of how he could still think of her, even now. Michael took his hand and kissed his knuckles, mirroring his own actions. "I'm embracing happiness," she said, trying to reassure him with her look. "It's a process."

Chris' lips quirked in acceptance, blue eyes so impossibly warm. "I'll help."

"You already have."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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